Chapter Twenty

Every mile we put between us and Arizona felt like a thread barely holding her together. If we stopped, even for a second, that thread would snap, and the darkness clawing inside me would devour her whole.

After we crossed state lines, I called the hotel, spun some bullshit about the Senator's "situation." I could've done it sooner—hell, I could've left him tied to that chair for days, let him rot in his own piss. That would've been justice. But justice? That doesn't mean shit in a world like this. No fairness, no morality, no cosmic balance. Just power and survival. That's it.

I waited because I knew he'd break. He'd crumble under the pressure, spill every name he had to save his own miserable skin. And he'd give them me. Worse, he'd give them her.

But he wasn't the real reason we couldn't stop. The real threat was out there—Caius and Marcus. Those sadistic bastards didn't just want me dead; they wanted her erased. Not killed—annihilated. They'd turn her into a bloody, screaming symbol, carve out a message in her flesh. I'd seen what they could do. The screams. The mangled bodies. The hollowed-out wreckage left behind, unrecognizable as anything human.

If they got to her? Jesus Christ. They'd make damn sure I lived long enough to watch every agonizing second of it.

Bella thought this was just a road trip. Thought I was being selfish, not ready to share her with the world yet. I fed her some crap about Arizona pulling her away from me—family, obligations, the life she put on hold to be with me. Told her I just needed more time. And she fucking smiled. Said I was all that mattered, like she believed me.

I hated myself for lying to her. Spinning fantasies about love and freedom, when all I had to offer was blood and ruin. But what the hell was I supposed to do? Tell her the truth? That the world was nothing but violence and greed, and she was the only thing worth saving? That they were coming for her, and it was my fault?

Fuck. Fuck! Fuck!

Dragging her into this, knowing full well it would all explode eventually—it made me sick. But the worst part? I didn't want to stop.

Chaos wasn't a mistake. It was a craving. Every reckless move, every bad decision, every time I let shit spiral out of control—it wasn't an accident. It was the fix I needed. And instead of hitting the brakes, I was flooring it, pulling her with me, feeding the beast inside.

I knew when it first hit me, that rush of destruction. I was fourteen, at some filthy party, watching two guys beat the shit out of each other. Blood sprayed, fists slammed into flesh, a girl screamed. Everyone else flinched, looked away, but not me. I just sat there, breathing it in.

It wasn't fear. It wasn't disgust. It was fucking euphoria.

When one guy hit the ground, wheezing and broken, I didn't feel sorry for him. I felt alive. Like I'd been waiting for that moment my whole life. The chaos, the violence—it felt like home.

I walked out of that party with blood on my shoes and a grin I couldn't wipe off. That feeling? It never left. It shaped me, defined every choice I ever made. And now, with Bella, it was back. Whispering in my ear, pulling me deeper.

She was everything good in this world. My salvation. The reason I hadn't let the darkness bury me years ago. But being with her was like holding a live grenade, the pin already gone. Every second felt like a countdown to something I couldn't control.

I didn't want her to lose her soul. That thought gutted me. She was already in too deep, running with me, bending rules I swore she never would. And the thing that scared me most? She wasn't flinching.

It thrilled me. It terrified me. It broke me.

I wanted her to feel the chaos, to know the darkness the way I did. To stop fighting it and let it consume her like it had consumed me. I wanted her to become like me—stripped of softness, a creature of survival. It was a fantasy. A sick, selfish fantasy.

Because as much as I wanted her to understand the hunger that drove me, I couldn't let it take her too. I needed her to stay bright, untouched, the one good thing I had left. But some part of me, the ugliest part, wanted to see her let go. To watch her thrive in the dark, to destroy everything in her path, to stand beside me as something invincible.

I hated that part of me. But it was there, whispering, just like the darkness had been all along.

So I lied. Over and over, I lied. Because the only thing worse than lying to her was her seeing the truth.

And when she finally did—when she realized I wasn't her savior but the bastard dragging her into the fire—I prayed to whatever was left of God that she wouldn't leave.

But I wouldn't blame her if she did.

We ended up somewhere in bumfuck Iowa, holed up in a shitty inn with walls so thin I could hear every goddamn curse and door slam from the junkies next door. The Senator's blood money was holding us over for now, but it wouldn't last. It never did. I was already scheming the next move—another heist, another scam, another lie to keep her alive. Whatever it fucking took.

Bella was sprawled out on the bed, her arm tucked under her head, her hair a wild, messy halo against the pillow. She looked so goddamn peaceful, like she belonged in some fantasy I had no right even thinking about.

She shifted in her sleep, her hand brushing the empty space next to her, and I had to turn away before I lost my shit. I wanted her. Christ, I needed her, like an addict needs their next fix. This constant, gnawing hunger for her—her skin, her scent, her voice. I wanted to bury myself in her and forget every fucking choice that had dragged us into this hell. Forget the lies, the blood, the bodies piling up in my rearview.

When she stirred again, I clenched my jaw and forced my head back into the game. No time to lose my shit now. The next con, the next heist—that's all that mattered. There was no fucking endgame, no magical happily-ever-after waiting for us. Hell, I didn't even know if we'd make it out alive. All I knew was this: I'd lie, steal, cheat, kill, and burn this whole goddamn world to ash if it meant keeping her breathing.

Even if it killed me. Even if it destroyed her.

I couldn't fucking sit in that room anymore. The silence was choking me, my thoughts clawing at my skull like a goddamn rabid animal. I left her passed out on the bed and stepped onto the stairwell, pulling a cigarette from my pocket. I didn't smoke much—only when shit got so heavy it felt like the weight of the world was cracking my ribs, or when I was riding a murderous high so sharp it felt like my head was about to split wide open. Smoking wasn't some casual habit. It was a ritual. A fucked-up communion with the demons chewing me apart from the inside.

I lit it, the first drag ripping down my throat like shards of glass. Fucking perfect. The burn reminded me I was still here, still breathing, still clawing my way through the wreckage I'd built with my own goddamn hands. The cartel breathing down our necks, the cash running out faster than I could steal it, the trail of bodies piling up behind me. It was all too fucking much, but for a few blessed seconds, the cigarette dulled the noise.

My phone was in my hand, Jasper's name glaring up at me from the screen like a fucking taunt. I didn't want to call him. Hell, I'd been avoiding it for days.

It wasn't just pride—it was him. Jasper didn't even try to hide how much he hated Bella. He didn't tiptoe around it or talk in circles like some passive-aggressive prick. No, he came right out and said it: she was a liability. A weakness. "She's gonna get you killed, Edward," he'd said once, his voice all calm and calculated like he was reading off a fucking weather report. "You're thinking with your dick, not your brain."

I'd wanted to smash his face in for that. For the way he looked at her, like she was some ticking time bomb ready to blow up my entire goddamn life. He didn't see her the way I did. He couldn't. Bella was the only thing keeping me upright, the only thing keeping me alive. And he hated her for it. Hated that she had a hold on me he never could.

I didn't trust him. Not because he'd given me a reason to doubt him, but because he didn't trust her. And that was enough to make my blood fucking boil.

But none of that mattered. I needed him. As much as I wanted to handle this shit on my own, I couldn't. Not this time. And that made me feel like the lowest piece of shit alive.

I stared at his name, my thumb hovering over the call button like a goddamn coward. I didn't want to do this. I wanted to fix it myself, find a way out without dragging him into it. But the truth was staring me in the face—I was in too deep.

And Bella—she couldn't know how bad it was. She was the only thing holding me together, and if she broke, I'd fucking shatter right along with her.

I jabbed the button, pressed the phone to my ear, and hated myself more with every goddamn ring.

"Finally," Jasper's voice crackled through the line, cold and unyielding. "Thought you'd figure this one out without me."

"Not yet," I muttered, dragging hard on the cigarette. The smoke twisted upward, ghostlike in the icy morning air. The sun barely broke through the clouds, a weak, washed-out light that only deepened the gloom settling over me. It felt too fitting—like everything was hanging on the edge of something worse. "Listen, I need—"

"Let me guess," Jasper cut in, his tone flat, clipped. "You're drowning in shit again, and I'm supposed to be the lifeboat."

My jaw tightened, but I swallowed the snap building in my throat. That was Jasper. Always direct, always hitting where it hurt. And he wasn't wrong—not this time, not ever.

"Can you just let me talk for once?" I exhaled, the smoke rolling out slowly, heavy and deliberate. I leaned against the cold steel of the stairwell, the chill biting through my jacket. My head felt like it was full of static, buzzing and relentless. "This isn't—"

"Bad, right?" Jasper's interruption cut cleanly through, his voice as steady as always. "How bad this time?"

"Bad," I admitted, the word scraping out of me like it was dragged over gravel. "The cartel's not backing off. And…" I hesitated, feeling the weight of what I was about to say. "I pulled my dad into it."

The line went silent. Not the kind of silence you could ignore—the kind that sank into your chest, deep and heavy, pressing the air out. Jasper didn't rush to fill it. He let it stretch, long enough to make me feel every second of my mistake.

"You dragged the Senator into this?" His voice, when it came, was low, deliberate, the disbelief clear in every syllable. "What the hell, Edward? What did you do?"

"I blackmailed him," I said, like saying it with no emotion could somehow lessen the impact. "He's got connections. Resources. I'm making him use them."

There was a sharp exhale, a sound that carried Jasper's frustration across the distance. "You're sinking, and now you're dragging everyone else down with you."

"Spare me the lecture, Jasper," I shot back, trying to steady the anger rising in my chest. "You think I don't know how bad this is? I didn't call you to play conscience."

"No, you called me because you're desperate," Jasper said, his tone cool, cutting. "And because you know I'll tell you the truth. So just say it—why are you really calling? Is it about your dad?"

"No," I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair. The cigarette burned hot between my fingers, but the smoke didn't ease the weight pressing against my ribs. "It's Caius. He's stirring up shit again. Same threats, same games. But Emmett thinks Marcus is behind it. You heard anything?"

"No." Jasper's answer came after a pause, his voice calm but firm. "But that doesn't mean anything."

I felt my chest tighten, the fear clawing its way up, no matter how hard I tried to push it down. Marcus's silence was a shadow, stretching too far, too dark. He never wasted time making noise—that was Caius's move. And God help me, I prayed Caius was acting alone.

"Caius doesn't scare me," I said, the words more for myself than for Jasper. "He's loud, but he's all talk."

"That's where you're wrong," Jasper said, his voice steady, almost unnervingly calm. "Just because Caius is loud doesn't mean he's not dangerous. And Marcus? Quiet doesn't mean he's standing still. If Marcus is staying in the background, it's because he's already pulling the strings."

The words sank into me like a stone in deep water, the truth of them too heavy to ignore. My hands shook as I flicked ash onto the concrete, the cigarette trembling between my fingers.

"Yeah, well, until Marcus shows his hand, I'm not wasting time panicking over nothing," I said, forcing my voice to stay hard, steady. "Let Caius scream himself hoarse."

"You're missing the point," Jasper said, his tone sharper now. "Marcus doesn't waste time making noise, Edward. He moves. And when he does, it's too late."

I said nothing, the silence closing in again, tighter this time. My thoughts spiraled, the weight of Marcus's shadow looming larger with every second. I dragged a hand through my hair again, trying to shake off the exhaustion clawing at the edges of my mind.

"I get it," I muttered, my voice low and strained, though the pit in my stomach told me I didn't. Not yet.

Jasper let the silence stretch, the weight of it grinding into my skull, before he finally spoke. "What's the fucking play with your dad?"

"I told him to handle the goddamn charges in Phoenix," I snapped, my voice flat, brittle. "He's got a week to fix his shit, or I'll burn him to the ground. I've got enough dirt to nuke his career, and he knows it."

"And you actually trust him to deliver?" Jasper's tone was sharp, cutting, like he was already carving up the inevitable fallout.

"Not even a little," I admitted, the bitterness clawing up my throat. "But I needed the time. Bella and I can't move forward until I bury this mess for good."

"You're gambling with borrowed time and debts you can't pay back," Jasper said, his voice calm but lethal. "And you know how that always ends."

I laughed, cold and empty. "Yeah, I fucking do. So what, you're saying I'm already dead in the water?"

"Pretty much," Jasper fired back, no hesitation. "Unless you get lucky. Real lucky."

"Define lucky."

"Lucky like Caius overreaches without Marcus backing him," Jasper said, his tone pure steel. "Or your old man grows a spine. But let's not kid ourselves—you're out of plays, Edward."

The ache in my chest swelled like a goddamn tidal wave. "Fuck you for saying it out loud."

"You called me for the truth," Jasper shot back, unapologetic. "And here it is: forget Phoenix, forget your dad. If you're smart, you'll focus on keeping your head down and staying out of sight until this all blows over."

My jaw clenched so tight it felt like it might snap. The thought of running, of hiding like a coward, made my skin crawl. I latched onto the one thing I knew for sure. "I was never planning on going back to Arizona."

"Good," Jasper said, his tone easing just a fraction. "With the way the news keeps painting her parents as the victims, I don't see how coming back would even be an option."

"They're still running the story?" I asked, dragging hard on the cigarette, my voice cutting like broken glass.

"Like a dog with a bone," Jasper said, his voice flat, almost bored. "Alice has been trying to hack into Phoenix PD's system, but their firewalls are solid. They won't stop until they've got you in an execution chair."

I didn't respond, the weight of it all pressing down harder. Morning light was spilling over the rooftops, but it felt cold. Empty. I took another drag, watching the smoke disappear into the sky like every plan I'd ever had.

That's when I felt her. Bella. Before her footsteps even reached my ears, I felt her presence—a shift in the air, the quiet kind of warmth that should've been comforting but only made the weight on my chest heavier. She was trying to sneak up on me. Sweet, stupid girl. She didn't know just how bad things were.

I needed to pivot. Fast. My voice shifted gears, aiming for something lighter, something that wouldn't make her worry. "Yeah, well, I gave him until the end of the week. It's only two days. Let the prick sweat."

Jasper hesitated, catching the change in tone. It took him a second, but the bastard was quick, and he caught on. "She's there, isn't she?"

I hummed in agreement just as Bella's arms slid around me from behind. Her touch was warm, grounding, like she was trying to tether me to something real.

I took one last drag from my cigarette, let the smoke curl in my lungs a second longer, then flicked the butt over the railing like it was trash—which it was. My free hand found hers, lacing our fingers together like I wasn't standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the world to crumble.

"And if Marcus makes it his priority?" Jasper pressed, his voice sharp and smug, the cunning bastard. Always the one to needle the cracks until they split wide open.

Bella pressed up against me, her cheek on my back like she thought that would fucking fix anything. Her breath was steady, slow—too slow, like she was trying to force me to calm the fuck down by osmosis or some shit. Sweet, goddamn naive Bella. She didn't get it. Her touch didn't calm the storm; it made the whole fucking thing worse. Her warmth wasn't comfort—it was a goddamn knife in my gut, twisting, reminding me how fucking close I was to losing everything. One wrong move, one stupid fucking moment, and she'd be gone. And if she was gone, I might as well be fucking dead.

"I don't give a fuck about him," I lied, my voice cutting through the morning air, raw and jagged, enough to wound but not enough to end it. I paused, Jasper's muffled reply barely audible through the phone, low enough that Bella couldn't catch it, though I knew she was straining to.

"You don't care if they find out where you are?" Jasper's voice was measured, cold, like he already knew the answer. He was just waiting for me to admit it.

Impossible, I thought, jaw tightening. But if Marcus or Caius does come for me? So fucking be it. Let them try.

"I'm not worried, alright?" I snapped, the words louder than necessary, designed to cut off Jasper and keep Bella from asking the questions she was dying to ask. "The guy's a fucking pussy. All talk, no bite." My grip on her hand tightened—just enough to make her think I was letting her in, that I wasn't crumbling under the weight of everything. I was. But she didn't need to know that.

"Who are you lying to?" Jasper asked, his voice low and hollow, like he was mourning something already gone. "Bella or yourself?"

Myself. Fucking myself. Because pretending Bella and I could survive this shitshow was the only way I could keep my head above water. The only way I could keep lying to her. If I let the truth in—if I let it crack through the surface—I'd drown. And when I went under, I'd take her with me. The whole fucking charade would tumble down, and there'd be nothing left. Nothing but blood and regret and a hole I couldn't crawl out of.

I swallowed hard, the taste of bile rising, and forced my voice steady. "Relax, Jazz," I said, like everything wasn't already falling apart. "I've got it handled."

Jasper didn't buy a second of it. "They're going to kill her," he said, his voice cold, emotionless, like he was already writing the obituary.

I laughed, sharp and bitter, the kind of laugh that cuts your throat on the way out. "Yeah, no shit. Emmett said the same goddamn thing." My tone was all fake calm, like we weren't talking about Bella's life being ripped to fucking pieces.

But Jasper didn't stop. He didn't flinch. He wasn't just poking at the wound—he was tearing it wide open. "They'll make you watch," he said, his voice dropping lower, darker. "They'll rape her. Destroy her. Tear her apart in every sick, disgusting way they can imagine. And you'll be standing there, fucking useless, watching it happen."

My teeth ground together so hard I thought my jaw might snap. Bella shifted against me, her grip tightening, her soft breaths sharp against the quiet. She was listening, trying to piece it together. She couldn't. I wouldn't let her.

"We'll see," I said, dead, and final. I cut him off like I could stop the words from sinking any deeper.

It was a lie. Another fucking lie. One more to add to the mountain of bullshit I'd piled up to keep her safe. To keep me sane. Or maybe just to pretend I wasn't already standing in the ashes of what was left.

"Well, finding you is going to be easy," Jasper said, his voice flat, stripped of anything resembling hope. "Your dad's running his mouth on CNN."

The phone nearly slipped from my hand. What the fuck? "What?" The word tore out of me, sharp and ragged, shredding the cold night air. My body locked up, every muscle coiled tight, primed for a fight that had no target.

Bella jolted behind me, lifting her head from my back. Her hands gripped me tighter, like she could feel the ground beneath us collapsing.

"And your mother," Jasper continued, steady like he'd already swallowed the worst of it. "They're on a press tour. Smiling for the cameras. Playing their roles."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." My voice was a low snarl, the kind that made people step back. My hand tightened around the phone, the plastic creaking under the strain. "What channel?"

"It's on every channel," Jasper said.

Every nerve in my body screamed. My pulse pounded in my ears as I climbed over Bella in one frantic motion, barely aware if I jostled her. My hand found hers, clutching tight like she was the only thing anchoring me to this spinning, burning world.

Inside the room, I dropped her hand and froze, my eyes darting around like an animal backed into a corner. Thoughts slammed together, chaotic and useless. Everything felt too much. Too close. Too loud. "Where's the fucking remote, Bella?" The words ripped out, jagged and mean.

She froze, wide-eyed, like she was staring at a stranger. Like I'd just become the monster everyone else thought I was. Her fear hit me harder than a fist, cracking through my chest and leaving me hollow. Jesus Christ, what am I doing to her?

"Shit," I muttered, softer now, dragging a hand through my hair as guilt wrapped tight around the fury. My hands were trembling as I tore the covers off the bed, my frustration bleeding out in every frantic motion. When the remote hit the floor with a dull thunk, I snatched it up like it could fix everything. Like it could stop the spiral.

The TV flared to life, the blue glow harsh in the dark room. My fingers punched the remote, flipping through channels so fast I barely registered them. "What channel is CNN?" I asked again, my voice lower, steadier—barely holding together.

"I don't know," she whispered, her voice small, cautious.

That sound. It broke me. She sounded afraid. Afraid of me.

When I finally found the goddamn channel, my stomach fucking dropped, and the world tilted like a cheap carnival ride ready to snap. There we were—our lives, our fucked-up circus, splattered across the screen for every nosy asshole in the country to gawk at.

My father, that smug, manipulative prick, stood there in front of the cameras like the king of fucking morality, with Esme draped on his arm like a Stepford prop. They looked perfect—too fucking perfect. He wasn't just dodging the scandal; he was fucking weaponizing it. Twisting it, turning it into some bullshit sob story about betrayal and resilience.

Now he was the victim. The noble, wronged father. His voice dripping with fake-ass disappointment, rehearsed to the syllable. And Esme? Fucking Esme? Playing the devastated wife like she was auditioning for an Oscar.

It was revolting. Manipulative. And, goddammit, it was working.

"That fucking bastard," I groaned, dragging a hand down my face like I could claw the rage right off my skin. My voice was raw, trembling, laced with venom. "Extortion, Jazz? That's not just low—it's a fucking felony."

"Yeah," Jasper said, like he was just tired of my shit at this point. "It's worse than that. Federal crime."

"I know!" I snapped, pacing like a caged fucking animal, every thought ricocheting off the walls of my skull in a useless scramble for answers. "Even if I release the fucking pictures, it doesn't matter. That piece of shit planned this. It'll just prove his goddamn narrative, and he knows it. How the fuck didn't I see this coming?"

Jasper sighed, the kind of sigh that said he'd seen this disaster playing out in slow motion but was too worn out to stop it. "I told you this would happen."

"Thanks, Captain Obvious," I spat, voice dripping with frustration. "Really fucking helpful right now."

"Look," he said, calm but exasperated, "I'm not mad. You've done plenty of dumb shit before. This? This is just another entry in your greatest-hits album. But now it's not just your ass on the line. It's Bella. It's everything. You can't keep spinning your wheels like this."

I stopped pacing, the air punched out of me by the weight of it all. Bella. Fucking Bella. What this would do to her. How it'd shred her, make everything worse.

"Now," Jasper continued, voice steady but resigned, "not only do you have the fucking cartel breathing down your neck, but the federal government too. You're out of moves, man. You've gotta stop running."

I laughed, bitter and hollow, the sound scraping out of my chest like it hurt to breathe. "Oh, I'm fucked, Jazz. Fucked six ways to Sunday. Should've stuck to stealing cars. At least that doesn't end with a nationwide manhunt and my face on every goddamn screen in America."

I turned to Bella, and fuck, the sight of her made my stomach drop. She was pale as hell, her wide, terrified eyes fixed on the screen like it held the answer to how badly I'd screwed us. She wasn't shaking, but I could feel the tension rolling off her, sharp and electric, like she was barely holding herself together. It ripped me apart. Her fear wasn't just hard to see—it was unbearable. The world could go straight to hell, but Bella? She was the only thing keeping me sane, and now I'd dragged her into my mess.

I forced myself to focus, putting the phone back to my ear. "Jazz, I'll call you back," I said, trying to sound like I had my shit together. I didn't.

"Edward." His voice was calm, steady, the exact opposite of mine. "You can't just brush this off. She's scared, and you owe her the truth."

I closed my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. "It's not that simple."

"It is," Jasper said, like the reasonable bastard he always was. "You're not protecting her by lying, and you know it. You're making it worse."

"Thanks for the fucking lecture, Dr. Phil," I muttered, too bitter to stop myself. "I've got it handled."

"No, you don't," he said, still maddeningly calm. "But you could, if you'd just stop bullshitting her. And yourself."

"Great talk, man," I said, hanging up before I could hear any more of his reasonable fucking advice. I stuffed the phone in my pocket and turned to Bella. She hadn't moved. Her eyes were still locked on the screen, her body stiff like she was bracing for the next blow.

"Bella," I said softly, stepping closer. Her gaze snapped to mine, and Jesus Christ, the mix of fear and betrayal in her eyes hit me like a sucker punch. She knew. She fucking knew I was lying to her, and I hated that she was right.

I reached out, cradling her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing over her cheeks. Her skin was cool, and the contact only made the ache worse. "Hey," I said, my voice low, steady, like I wasn't barely holding it together. "It's not as bad as it seems."

Her lips parted, but the laugh that came out wasn't one of relief. It was sharp, bitter, like glass breaking. "Not as bad as it seems?" she repeated, her voice tight. "Edward, we're completely fucked, and you know it."

I swallowed hard, forcing a smile I didn't feel. "It's a bump in the road. That's all."

Her eyes narrowed, disbelief written all over her face. "A bump in the road? They're coming for us, Edward. They're not going to stop. How do you not get that?"

"I get it," I snapped, then softened my tone when I saw her flinch. "I get it, Bella. But freaking out isn't going to help."

Her jaw tightened, and I could see the anger bubbling up beneath the fear. "You're deflecting. Again."

"I'm trying to keep us alive," I shot back, my voice sharper than I meant. I took a breath, forcing myself to calm down. "Look, we just need to get out of here. We'll figure it out. We always do."

Her eyes searched mine, desperate for something real, but all I had were lies. "Where?" she whispered. "Where do we go?"

"Anywhere," I said quickly. "Mexico. Canada. Hell, Alaska if we have to. It doesn't matter. We just need to move."

She stared at me, her disbelief morphing into something colder. "You don't have a plan, do you?"

"Of course I do," I lied, leaning in to kiss her. It wasn't just to calm her—it was to shut her up, to stop her from digging into the truth I couldn't face. My lips lingered on hers, desperate, like that could somehow make her believe in me again. "We'll be fine," I murmured, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes. "You trust me, right?"

Her hesitation was a knife in my chest. But finally, she nodded. Barely. And it fucking killed me, because I knew I didn't deserve it. Not anymore.

"Grab your things," I said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "We're leaving. Now." I stepped back, watching as she moved reluctantly to pack up our stuff. My gut twisted as I followed her, guilt heavy and choking.

Jasper's words echoed in my head. You're not protecting her by lying. But I couldn't stop. I had to keep her calm, even if it meant selling her the biggest pile of bullshit I'd ever spun. Because the truth? The truth would break her. And I couldn't fucking handle that.

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